


Not Quite Elysium

by Canislupus54



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Xenoblade Chronicles 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2019-05-21 00:09:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14904782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canislupus54/pseuds/Canislupus54
Summary: Rex and his companions end up in Westeros after the confrontation at the Cliffs of Morytha. Posing as envoys of Mor Ardain and Tantal, they are treated as guests and change the course of history. Rated M just in case, because ASOIAF.





	1. Prologue

Will clung tightly to his perch as he watched Ser Waymar Royce face off against the Other. The lordling’s fear was evident from the way he shook and his voice cracked, and yet, Will felt that Waymar was finally a man of the Watch.

               “Come no farther!” the knight warned with his failing voice. He threw his cloak over his shoulders, freeing his arms for battle.

               Soundlessly, the Other slid toward Waymar, holding a longsword the likes of which Will had never seen. It was made of translucent crystal, exceedingly thin and sharp, and seemed to glow with a faint blue light.

               Ser Waymar met the creature head on. “Dance with me then.” He lifted his sword and for a moment hope blossomed in Will’s heart. The remaining Others emerged silently from the trees, unnoticed by the fighting lordling. There were five of them. Will had to call out. It was his duty. And his death if he did. He kept his silence.

               The sword of the first Other flew through the air and met Ser Waymar’s. The Other unleashed a rapid flurry of blows. Royce managed to parry each, but was slowly being pushed back. The watchers surrounded the two combatants, but made no move to interfere. Soon, Royce’s parry came a second too late, and the Other’s blade pierced the armor beneath his arm.

               The Other said something, it’s words like crackling ice, in a mocking tone, and Royce was about to attack in a fury, when suddenly, a wall of blue flames formed between the combatants, along with a ring separating them from the watchers. It melted the snow and burned the grass beneath. Will could feel the heat from his perch.

               The cracking voices of the Others sounded in confusion.

               “Sorry, I couldn’t watch that any longer,” said a rather deep, yet clearly feminine voice from the trees.

               Will looked to the source to see a woman in an ornate military uniform stepping into the open, holding two swords loosely at her sides, flanked by a strange woman with flaming blue hair and a sort of low cut blue dress. The latter had her eyes shut for some reason. Will hoped the girl’s hair was always on fire. That outfit looked a little cold.

               “I’ve never seen creatures like these, Lady Morag,” the blue-haired woman said. “They don’t seem friendly, though.”

               “Indeed,” said the now identified Morag, “whatever Rex and Malos did at the cliffs, it’s sent us a long way from home.”

               “Back, you fools!” said Ser Waymar. “The Others will slaughter you!”

                True to his word, two of the nearest watchers started closing in on Morag and her companion.

               “Brighid,” Morag said.

               Brighid nodded and stepped back, bringing up her hands as if reaching out to Morag. Morag swung one of her swords despite being well out of range, and a wave of blue fire erupted from the blade, engulfing the Other. When it passed, nothing was left but a wisp of steam. The woman then swung her other sword, which seemed to turn into a whip and bisect the other Other.

               The remaining creatures backed away from Morag slowly, save for the one that was currently surrounded by fire. As if on cue to prevent their escape, a youth’s determined shout echoed from the wilderness. A young boy in his mid-teens ran out of the forest, carrying a sword made almost entirely of golden light, and cut through the nearest Other like butter. Two women wearing bizarre clothing ran out after him, followed by a giant white cat. One of the women, a blonde, raised her hands in a manner similar to Brighid.

               The youth cleaved through the remaining watchers despite their attempts to parry. Meanwhile, Morag walked through the fire she had apparently summoned to confront the remaining Other.

               “Nia, looks like the armored guy’s injured, can you patch him up?” the boy said.

               The remaining woman, a silvery brown haired woman with what appeared to be cat or fox ears on her head, nodded.

               “Leave it to me,” she said, then leapt over the flames to Royce and held her hands to him. The lordling started to glow blue.

               The remaining Other lunged at Morag, who parried it’s blade with one sword and stabbed it through the head with the other, after lighting it on fire. The Other melted instantly and the blue flames died down.

               The blonde glanced up the tree, directly at Will. “You can come down now.”

               Will almost fell out of the tree in shock, but managed to climb down calmly. When he arrived on the ground, he was treated to more surprises. The cat-eared girl had rejoined the youth and Ser Waymar’s bleeding seemed to have stopped. In fact, he seemed perfectly healthy, perhaps in better health than before the fight. Morag and Brighid had also stepped over to the other four and was whispering in the boy’s ear.

               “I must thank you, strangers, I am in your debt,” Ser Waymar told the group.

               “It was no problem, sir,” Morag said, stepping forward. “We do seem to be a little lost. Perhaps you could point us towards the nearest city?”

               “You don’t seem to be wildlings…”

               “No, we are representatives of the Empire of Mor Ardain. I am Special Inquisitor Morag Ladair.”

               Will didn’t know what a Special Inquisitor was, but it sounded important.

               “Envoys from a foreign land?” Ser Waymar asked. “Come, I will escort you to the Wall.”

               “Thank you very much…”

               “Ser Waymar Royce.”

               “Thank you, Ser Waymar.”


	2. Chapter 1

**Morag**

               Morag, Rex, Nia, and their Blades, along with Azurda stood just outside the keep of the Night Watch’s Lord Commander, Jeor Mormont, waiting for the party from Winterfell to arrive. The Lord of the northernmost province of the realm was to lodge the seven, eight counting Mythra and Pyra as two, visitors until they could be transported to the capital, King’s Landing.

               The seven had reached the only available conclusion: they were in another world. None of them had ever heard of these locations in Alrest. They didn’t seem to be on or in a Titan and no one here had ever heard of Titans. Even more bizarrely, they had no idea what Blades were, referring to their abilities as “magic” or “sorcery.” Attempts to explain how Blades functioned fell on deaf ears.

               The group had managed to bluff their way through relations so far. If their hosts discovered the truth, they would either lose all reason to treat them well, think they were mad, or both. None of those outcomes would be favorable. Considering her position, Morag had naturally assumed a leadership role, and had briefed the whole group on their cover story. The story went that they were from the distant land of Mor Ardain, exploring Westeros. They had misjudged their landing and ended up on the wrong side of the wall.

               That wasn’t even covering the reactions to Dromarch, Azurda, and the female Blade’s clothing.

               Soon enough, a dark mass was visible on the horizon, people and horses sent by their new host. The people approached. They dismounted a short distance away and strode towards the visitors. Morag stepped forward to greet them, the others following her lead. A man with long brown hair and a closely trimmed, greying beard was at the forefront of Winterfell’s group. Going by descriptions she had heard, this was Lord Eddard Stark.

               “Greetings, Lord Stark,” said Morag, bowing slightly. “I’m honored that one such as yourself has come to greet us. I am Special Inquisitor of the Empire of Mor Ardain, Morag Ladair. This is my Blade Brighid, my companions Rex and Nia, and their Blades, Pyra and Dromarch. Finally, the small flying creature is known as Azurda.”

               “Well met, Lady Morag. I thought it be prudent for the Lord of Winterfell to meet envoys of this distant realm. I’m told you are the highest ranking member of your military. You must be quite skilled and well-born to acquire such a post. Might I ask your companions’ family names? And where is the other I was told of, Mythra?”

               “I understand your confusion. Where we are from family names are the exception. Rex and Nia have none, the same goes for our Blades and Azurda. Mythra is…complicated, but is not currently present. But worry not, she will go where Pyra does.”

               “And their clothing…”

               “Not a problem. Pyra and Brighid produce enough warmth for all of us.”

               Lord Stark nodded uncertainly.

               “Very well, we have mounts ready for you. Are you ready to depart?”

               Morag glanced at her companions, who nodded.

               “Of course,” she said.

               “If you don’t mind, my lord,” said Nia, no doubt drawing on the manners she had learned from her noble “father,” “I shall simply ride Dromarch. Not to spurn your kindness, but I am accustomed to it”

               “I have no objections. Let us leave immediately.”

               With that, everybody mounted their mounts and set off towards Winterfell. Morag couldn’t help but notice the whispering and glances shot at Nia and Pyra. Brighid’s outfit, at least, seemed to be on the edge of normal for this society.

***

               The party arrived at Winterfell after about a three week ride. As they rode into Winterfell, Morag noticed a noble looking woman and five children standing prominently to the side. The visitor’s from Alrest were led to the stable and dismounted there. Lord Stark then led them back over to the woman and children.

               “Lady Morag and companions, this is my family, my wife Catelyn, and my children, Robb, Bran, Rickon, Arya, and Sansa.”

               “Greetings, I am Special Inquisitor Morag.”

               “Nice to meet you! I’m Rex.”

               “It’s an honor, my name is Nia.”

               “Hello, I am Brighid.”

               “It’s a pleasure, I’m Dromarch.” The Starks almost fell over at that.

               “I’m honored to meet you, I’m known as Azurda.”

               “It’s nice to meet you, my name is Pyra.” Pyra bowed politely as she greeted.

               In a flash of light, Pyra was replaced by Mythra.

               “I’m Mythra, and it’s not polite to stare,” the Aegis said, looking pointedly at Robb who was blushing brightly.

               Mythra then reverted to Pyra. “Sorry about that, Mythra’s not the fondest of decorum.”

               “It’s fine, she’s right,” said Robb, now making a great effort to look away.

               The children and Catelyn then took turns introducing themselves. Rex, however, seemed distracted, looking at a boy walking the yard, a white wolf pup trailing behind him.

               “Who’s that? He looks kind of like E—Lord Stark.”

               “That’s our brother, Jon!” Arya said quickly.

               “Half-brother,” Sansa corrected. “He’s a bastard.”

               “Really? Looks nice enough to me,” Rex said.

               “She means an illegitimate kid, Rex,” Nia said. “You really are a kid sometimes.”

               Rex laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head. “Oh, that makes more sense.”

               Rickon and Bran, meanwhile, were enraptured by Dromarch, who didn’t seem to mind the attention much.

               “So, um, Lady Morag,” Arya, the younger daughter, said, “what does a Special Inquisitor do?”

               “I investigate disturbances in the empire, command others, and fight if necessary.”

               “Morag is crazy strong. She’s taken on three Drivers herself and only lost because of a trick,” Rex added, omitting that he and Nia were two of those Drivers.

               “What’s a Driver?

               “Pyra, Mythra, Brighid, and Dromarch are what we call Blades. Essentially, they have magic powers that become stronger when channeled through another person,” Morag explained. “These people are Drivers. Nia is also Blade, but she’s a special case.”

               Arya nodded in understanding, her eyes shining with interest.

               “Well, shall we move inside and dine?” Lord Stark suggested.

               “Of course,” Morag said.

               The group then went into the dining hall.

***

_Meanwhile in Pentos…_

**Daenerys**

               “I…am…the…” Viserys trailed off as he slid off the man’s long, single-edged sword, dead.

               Daenerys cowered in the corner as the white-haired man slaughtered everybody in sight faster than she could see.

               The man then slowly walked up to Daenerys and pointed his sword at her.

               “Who are you, and where am I?” he demanded in a monotone.

               Dany looked up at him. His eyes were filled with despair.

               “Y-you’re in the Free City of Pentos,” she managed to say.

               The man narrowed his eyes. “Never heard of it.” He turned and started walking away, then paused and looked back at Dany. “Are you coming?”

               She slowly stood up.


	3. Chapter 2

**Nia**

               A column of people riding horses poured into Winterfell through the gates. There must have been hundreds of them. The visitors bore gold banners, emblazoned with a deer, which was apparently the crest of the king’s family.

               Nia, of course, recognized none of the riders, though a man with a horribly burned face stood out. The man must have been around seven feet tall as well, though it was hard to judge when he was far away and on a horse. Lord Stark’s face showed varying degrees of recognition. There was also confusion when he laid eyes on the man leading the column.

               Said man was tall, and looked like he might once have been strong, but now he was fat, with a huge black beard concealing his face. Nia knew that nobles weren’t always the most health or appearance conscious, but this man had clearly let himself go.

               The man soon leaped off his horse and dashed over to Lord Stark, wrapping him in a painful-looking hug.

               “Ned!” he roared. “Ah, but it is good to see that frozen face of yours.” The man paused and looked over Ned Stark. “You have not changed at all.”

               Lord Stark maintained a straight face through this. He was almost too stoic. All he said was, “Your Grace, Winterfell is yours.”

               Others were dismounting by then, and servants were coming to take their horses. A blonde woman Nia assumed was the queen and several young children walked in through the gate on foot. The king and the lord of Winterfell greeted each other’s wives, Lord Stark kneeling to kiss the queen’s ring. Nia almost winced at that. She was a little chilly in her Blade outfit. Kneeling in the snow like that must have been freezing. Literally.

               The children of the two families were then introduced. Once that was done, the king adopted a relatively serious demeanor, as he walked over to the group from Alrest. He stopped directly in front of Morag. Due to her age and experience with politics, Morag was their representative to the people of this world. Nia hoped there wouldn’t be many authority figures left to meet. It was getting repetitive hearing Morag’s formal introduction every time.

               Morag placed a hand over her heart and bowed to the king. “Your Grace, I am Special Inquisitor Morag Ladair of the Empire of Mor Ardain. Thank you for your hospitality.”

               “I am King Robert Baratheon of the Seven Kingdoms. But you probably knew that,” the king said cheerfully. “It’s a pleasure to host you. An alliance could be very fruitful.”

               “Of course.”

               “I’ve heard of your companions, but why don’t they introduce themselves as well?”

               Nia, Brighid, and Pyra introduced themselves with a flawless imitation of the curtsy they’d seen woman perform. Mythra came out for a brief, brusque introduction. She refrained from insulting the king, despite it was obvious he was enjoying his view of the female Blades.

               Rex introduced himself with an awkward attempt at Morag’s bow, while Dromarch and Azurda simply stated their names.

               “Talking animals, glowing clothes, and flaming hair!” the king said excitedly when the introductions were done. “I would very much like to visit Mor Ardain some time.”

               “It would be our honor, Your Grace,” Morag said.

               “Would you excuse me?” the king asked. “I would like to pay my respects to a fallen… friend.”

               “Of course, it’s no problem, Your Grace.”

               Ned, seemingly knowing what the king was talking about, led him away.”

               Introductions were repeated with the queen, then a boy with long blonde hair walked up to them. Going by descriptions, this was the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He didn’t look much like his father.

               “You’re the people from this Mor Ardain place?” he demanded.

               “We are,” Morag replied evenly.

               “You wouldn’t happen to know a ‘Bringer of Chaos, Prince of Tantal, Zeke von Genbu’ and a talking ball of fur named Tora would you?”

               “Of course, Tantal is an ally of Mor Ardain, and Tora is from a province of ours. We’ve all traveled together before. I had heard Tantal was sending an envoy, but I didn’t imagine it would be the crown prince.”

               Morag was a very good liar, Nia decided. The only parts of that that were true were that Tora lived in a province of Mor Ardain, and that they had traveled together.

               “Ah, excellent,” Joffrey said. “We found them wandering around King’s Landing. A little uncouth, but they’re guests at the castle for now. They were accompanied by a Pandoria and Poppi.”

               “Their Blades.”

               Joffrey nodded. “I hope you can take them off our hands soon.”

               With that, the prince departed.

               “Charming,” Nia commented once he was out of earshot.

               “Indeed, but we must tolerate the charm of these lands for now,” Morag replied.

               “He was a little abrasive,” Pyra said.

               “A little?” Brighid asked.

               “A lot, actually.”

***

               Nia sat in the Great Hall of Winterfell, barely able to hear herself think over the roar of hundreds of conversations, the clang of tableware, the crackle of the fire, and the melody of a singer reciting some ballad of Westeros.

               The group from Nia, Rex, and Pyra were allowed to sit with the Stark and Baratheon children as an honor. Morag and Brighid were seated with the adult Starks, the king, and queen, while Dromarch and Azurda had been politely asked to wait outside. Nia had seen that Jon Snow, Ned Stark’s illegitimate son, was seated far away with the younger squires. Nia almost envied him. It would at least be a little less noisy there.

               The food at Winterfell was very good. The chef could give Pyra a run for her money. The children were apparently allowed a glass of wine for the special occasion. Rex, Nia, and Pyra had been offered one as well, but Rex had refused for the three of them, saying they were too young to drink. Nia could have gone for a glass of wine.

               Suddenly, a loud voice rang out over the din of the room. Nia looked over to the source. Jon appeared to be arguing with his uncle, a member of the Night’s Watch.

               Nia couldn’t make out exactly what was being said, but the people around them were falling silent, watching the two. Jon then seemed to excuse himself and bolted, crashing into a servant girl as he went. Nia knew the look on his face all too well.

               “Excuse me, I must check on Dromarch and Azurda,” Nia said politely. She stood and followed Jon out into the empty yard.

               “Jon,” she said.

               He turned around and looked at her. She could see tears welling up in his eyes.

               “You’re one of the visitors. Lady Nia,” he said, his voice cracking.”

               “Just Nia is fine. What’s the matter? I came to check on my Blade and here you are crying.”

               “It’s… you wouldn’t understand…”

               “It’s hard, isn’t it?”

               “What is?”

               “Not having a place. I’m a special kind of Blade. One feared and despised. You could say I’m part Blade, part Driver. My sister died of an illness I couldn’t cure, even though I’m a healing Blade. My father went broke shortly afterwards, and I was left all alone. I was caught between two worlds. So I wandered, not knowing what to do. I caused some trouble, got some people killed. But I met Rex. He helped me not be afraid of who I am. And showed me that I do have a place in the world.”

               “Where are you going with this?”

               Nia sighed. “I don’t know what being a bastard is like, but I know what it’s like to feel like you don’t belong, like the world’s against you, or like there’s something wrong with who you are. What I’m saying is, you’ll find something or someone to help. You’re not alone, so don’t get discouraged.”

               “She’s right, boy,” a voice said from atop the door.

               The two looked up to see Tyrion Lannister, the queen’s dwarf brother sitting on the ledge of the door to the Great Hall, grinning. He leapt down from the ledge and landed nimbly on the ground.

               “The world won’t forget what you are, so don’t you going doing it. Find strength in it,” the dwarf said. “May I see your wolf?”

               “Direwolf. Ghost, come here. Sit. Stay still,” Jon said. “Go ahead. What would you know about being a bastard?”

               Tyrion ruffled the wolf’s fur. “I’m a dwarf. We all might as well be bastards. But not all of you are dwarves.”

               “You two are trueborn children--”

               “I’m adopted, actually,” Nia cut in.

               “And my lord father could sure use whatever source you’ve conjured up.”

               “Well…”

               “Everybody’s got problems, Jon,” Rex’s voice said from behind. “Nia was taking a while so I came to check on her.”

               Everybody turned to Rex.

               “Look, Jon, it’s not important what you are, or who your mother was. It’s who you are. What you do to fit into this world. If this world doesn’t have a place for you, then you have to make one. Just don’t be hasty.”

               Jon grumbled something inaudible. He and Tyrion then walked back into the Great Hall.

               Nia moved to follow.

               “Wait, Nia,” Rex said. “I wanted to talk about… what you said. And what I said. When I said ‘all you guys,’ I meant, well. I love you, Nia. It’s just…”

               “You love Pyra and Mythra more,” Nia said, smiling sadly. “I get it, Rex. There’s no hard feelings. If I’m going to lose to someone, it might as well be Pyra. We’ll always be friends, right?”

               “Why?” Pyra asked.

               Nia and Rex jumped and turned to look at the Aegis.

               “We don’t mind sharing,” Pyra said sweetly. “Mythra and I are already doing it. If it’s just you, Nia, I don’t see a problem.”

               “Sh-sh-sharing?” Rex exclaimed.

               Pyra nodded. “That way, everybody’s happy.”

               “I’m so confused…”

               Nia laughed. “You’ve got a deal, Pyra.”


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mythra knits about as well as she cooks and Rex has a standoff with the Hound.

**Mythra**

Mythra looked at her needlework and frowned. The stitches weren't so much crooked as nonexistent. She had never been good at these kinds of tasks, they were more Pyra's domain. When she had asked her younger sister to stretch her legs, she hadn't been expecting to wind up trapped in this room, training in the "womanly" arts.

She had wanted to watch the boys sparring, to see how people fought in this world and gauge their strength. When she had said as much, she was gently told that wasn't "ladylike" and asked to sit in on the sewing training as a guest. Morag and, by extension, Brighid were exempt due to their positions.

Glancing over at Arya, Mythra smirked. At least she wasn't the only one struggling. Arya's stitches were crooked as well, though better than Mythra's. Arya's sister, Sansa, on the other hand, was having no trouble. She was remarkably skilled, able to stitch effectively even while gossiping with her friends, whose names Mythra couldn't remember.

The princess of the Seven Kingdoms, Myrcella, was also present, and the center of that elderly woman's attention. Apparently the woman was some kind of religious figure called a septa. Fortunately, she didn't give off the same ominous feeling as Amalthus. She also presumably hadn't awakened an evil Blade bent on destruction. Despite Myrcella's stitches being less than stellar, the septa was showering her with praise.

Next to Mythra sat Nia. The Flesh Eater had been in high spirits since her conversation with Pyra, and was stitching without complaint. The stitches were actually pretty good.

"You can sew?" Mythra asked quietly.

"My father had me taught how," Nia said. "It's not really fun, but I can manage." The cat-eared Blade looked at Mythra's work and grinned. "I guess being the Aegis doesn't include these skills."

Mythra blushed. "Shut up."

"What are you talking about?" Arya suddenly asked.

Mythra turned her attention to Arya and it became evident that she was talking to Sansa and her friends, who all looked embarrassed and stayed silent.

"Tell me," Arya said.

One of Sansa's friends glanced at the septa to make sure they weren't being watched, then Sansa answered in a soft voice. "We were talking about the prince."

"Joffrey likes your sister," the older of Sansa's friends whispered, with a sense of pride, as if somehow involved in the matter. "He told her she was very beautiful."

"He's going to marry her," the younger friend said dreamily, hugging herself. "Then Sansa will be queen of all the realm."

Sansa blushed. Mythra noticed that the gesture seemed to irritate Arya for some reason.

"Beth, you shouldn't make up stories," Sansa said, gently stroking the girl's hair, then turning back to Arya. "What do you think of Prince Joff, sister? He's very gallant, don't you think?"

"Jon says he looks like a girl," Arya said.

Sansa sighed, still stitching skillfully. Mythra looked at her own stitches, and realized that she had simply been threading string in random directions while listening to the conversation. Nia giggled.

"Going for an abstract look?" she asked.

"He's our brother," Arya said loudly in response to whatever Sansa had just said. Probably something about Jon.

The septa, whose name Mythra also couldn't remember, looked at the group.

"What are you talking about, children?" she asked.

"Our half-brother," Sansa corrected, before responding to the septa. "Arya and I were remarking on how pleased we were to have the princess and envoys with us today."

The septa nodded. "Indeed, a great honor for us all. Arya, why aren't you at work?" She stood and walked over. "Let me see your stitches."

Arya cast a look at Sansa as if it was the older girl's fault Arya had caught the septa's attention, then surrendered her work. "Here."

The septa examined the fabric closely. Mythra could have sworn the septa also cast a disapproving glance at Mythra's work, but for the moment she focused on Arya.

"Arya, Arya, Arya," she said. "This will not do. This will not do at all."

Everybody in the room looked sympathetically at Arya, except for one of Sansa's friends, who was smirking. Tears were starting to well up in the younger Stark's eyes. She stood and bolted for the door.

"Arya, come back here! Don't you take another step!" the septa called. "Your lady mother will hear of this. In front of our guests too. You'll shame us all!"

Arya stopped at the door and turned toward Myrcella, bowing stiffly, tears flowing from her eyes. "By your leave, my lady."

Myrcella looked to her ladies for guidance, while the septa continued shouting at Arya. "Just where do you think you're going, Arya?"

Arya shot a glare at the older woman that was only slightly undermined by her embarrassed crying. "I have to go shoe a horse," she said sweetly, visibly shocking the septa, before whirling around and running out of the room.

"I'll go make sure she doesn't cause any trouble," Mythra said, desperate to get out of this torture chamber.

"I'll come with you, in case she trips or something," Nia said. She bowed to the others. "If you'll excuse us."

The two Blades stood and walked swiftly out of the room and down the stairs, where they found Arya in the guardroom, hugging her direwolf pup. The wolf shifted to look at the two, which alerted Arya to their presence. She turned and scowled at the older girls, crossing her arms. Dromarch was also napping nearby and woke up as they approached.

"I'm not going back," she said.

"Wouldn't want you to," Mythra said. "Let's go watch the boys fight."

Arya blinked in surprise, then smiled brightly and nodded. "Exactly what I was thinking! Come on, I know a good place where we can watch."

"Lead the way."

The three Blades, Arya, and her wolf, walked to a covered bridge between sections of the castle. There was a large window overlooking the courtyard. Jon, the bastard, was already sitting on the sill, absorbed by the action. His wolf walked over to greet them, nipped Arya's wolf's ear, sniffed Dromarch, and settled down.

Jon looked at them, particularly at Arya. "Shouldn't you be working on your stitches, little sister?"

Arya huffed. "I want to watch them fight."

He smiled. "Come here, then."

Arya climbed on the window, while Mythra and Nia walked up so they could see. Unfortunately, it was the younger boys, Bran and Tommen, practicing in front of audience of Stark and Lannister men. Rex, Morag, and Brighid stood with the Stark men. The young boys and their wooden swords were heavily padded. They staggered from exhaustion as they smacked each other under the watchful eye of a stout man with large white whiskers.

"He could pass for a Gormotti," Nia commented.

Mythra laughed. "The boys look like stuffed animals in all that padding. Is that really good practice?"

"Probably not," Dromarch said. "But it makes sense that the youngest are allowed the illusion of practicing without the danger."

Nia nodded. "It makes them feel like grown-ups."

Mythra thought of the Garfront mercenary kids play-fighting. This was basically the same thing, dressed up as training. The kids taken in by Torna hadn't done it, but that had been in the middle of a massive war.

"Enough!" the whiskered man called out, drawing Mythra's attention. Bran had bested Tommen. "Well fought. Lew, Donnis, help them out of their armor. Prince Joffrey, Robb, will you go another round?"

Robb, visibly sweaty, stepped forward quickly. "Gladly."

Prince Joffrey, who had been sitting in the shade with men of his mother's house, moved into the sunlight, a bored look on his face. "This is a game for children, Ser Rodrik."

Some tall boy who always followed the Starks around but whose name Mythra had never learned laughed. "You are children," he said derisively.

"Robb may be a child," Joffrey said. "I am a prince, and I grow tired of swatting at Starks with a play sword."

Mythra narrowed her eyes. "Is that little kid seriously suggesting…?"

"You got more swats than you gave, Joff," Robb said, completely misreading Joffrey's intent. "Are you afraid?"

"Oh, terrified," Joffrey said. "You're so much older."

Some of the prince's companions laughed at that.

"Joffrey is truly a little shit," Jon said.

"Understatement of the century," Mythra grumbled, drawing a surprised look from Jon and a grin from Arya.

Ser Rodrik tugged at his whiskers.

"What are you suggesting?" he asked the prince.

"Live steel."

"Done," Robb shot back. "You'll be sorry!"

The old knight put a hand on Robb's shoulder to quiet him. "Live steel is too dangerous. I will permit you tourney swords, with blunted edges."

A tall, muscular man with black hair and some terrible burn scars pushed his way in front of the prince. "This is your Prince. Who are you to tell him he may not have an edge on his sword,  _ser?_ "

"Master-at-arms of Winterfell, Clegane, and you would do well not to forget it."

"Are you training women here?"

"I am training  _knights_ ," Ser Rodrik said. "They will have steel when they are ready. When they are of an age."

Clegane looked to Robb. "How old are you, boy?"

"Fourteen," Robb said.

"I killed a man at twelve. You can be sure it was not with a blunt sword."

Robb bristled. His pride was wounded. He turned to Ser Rodrik. "Let me do it, I can beat him!"

"Beat him with a tourney blade, then," Ser Rodrik said.

Joffrey shrugged. "Come and see me when you're older, Stark. If you're not  _too_  old."

Rex stepped forward from the group, a deep scowl on his face. Morag opened her mouth to say something, but Rex was faster.

"The only reason you two talk like that is because you don't know what it's like," he said, almost shouted.

"What did you say,  _boy_?" Clegane asked.

"You, and especially Joffrey, you've never fought for something that really matters. If you knew the pain of almost losing it. Of really losing something after you try your best… You wouldn't be able to talk so casually about it!"

"I've fought plenty," Clegane growled. "It's life here."

"It's not about fighting. It's about fighting for something. Fighting for what you believe in. Your friends, your beliefs, your dreams. You don't know the first thing about it."

Joffrey was looking at Rex with disdain, clearly not enjoying the lecture.

Clegane was red in the face, eyes bulging with anger. He started toward Rex.

"Move," Mythra said to Jon and Arya, who quickly moved aside.

Mythra jumped out the window and heard Nia follow her.

"Rex!" Mythra said, holding out her hands to give him energy.

Clegane drew his sword. "Don't talk to me about hardship!"

He swung down, but Rex drew Mythra's sword and parried, cutting the ordinary weapon in half. The top half of the sword went flying over his head and impaled itself in the ground behind him as Clegane threw aside the hilt. Mythra activated Foresight, allowing Rex to see Clegane throw several punches at him. Rex easily dodged, then swung his sword, landing a small cut on Clegane's cheek.

Clegane stood still, in shock, while Mythra moved behind Rex, Nia following her. Brighid's blue flames suddenly erupted between Clegane and Rex.

"Enough," Morag said. "I'm inclined to agree with Rex and Ser Rodrik. Children should be able to avoid fighting for as long as possible. However, such a disagreement is no need for violence. And Mister Clegane, I will not tolerate any attacks against my comrades or subordinates. Please restrain yourself in the future."

Clegane huffed and turned away.

"Fine," he said.

"Let's go, Hound," Joffrey said, starting to walk away, followed by his entourage.

Rex turned to Robb. "Don't be too quick to fight, Robb," he said. The prince and his group stopped momentarily. "If you're not ready, you'll lose something important. So wait, until you're ready and you can protect all the things precious to you. Then, fight, for what matters to you. Fight your own war."

Rex smiled brightly when he finished.

Joffrey stared at Rex for a moment before continuing his departure.

Robb nodded. "I think I get it. Thank you for the advice, Rex."

"He's right, you know," Mythra said. "We've all learned that lesson. One way or another. Rex actually saved Pyra and me by learning it." She turned to Rex. "You've really grown up."

Rex scratched the back of his head, blushing. "You think so?"

Mythra smiled and nodded.


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran falls.

**Rex**

Rex sat in Winterfell, reading a book about an old hero who had fought the Others. The king had taken a party out to hunt, since he wanted wild boar at tonight's feast. Robb and the prince had gone with them, along with a few other members of the Stark household.

They had offered to let Rex come, but he had decided to stay behind. Morag and Brighid were allowed to go, but none of the other girls, Dromarch, or Gramps had even been asked.

As it turned out, there wasn't a whole lot to do in Winterfell with most of the people in charge gone. He didn't really know how to approach the Stark daughters, Rickon was too young, Bran had disappeared somewhere, and Jon seemed aloof, almost angry. Looked like Nia's pep talk hadn't quite done the trick.

They were leaving for the south the next day, so this was the last festivity at Winterfell. The Starks who were leaving seemed very excited to go. Robb was staying behind with Rickon, while Jon was going to the Wall instead.

Pyra sat on a chair across from him, reading a book about the Targaryen's, the previous royal family who had been overthrown by the current king himself, with help from Lord Stark.

"This book doesn't cover the last king," Pyra said. "I wonder what he did to get overthrown."

"Must have been pretty bad if enough people fought him to win," Rex replied. "It's weird, though. My book talks about the Others like they're a myth. We fought them in the forest. Have they been hiding for so long people don't remember them?"

"It's definitely possible."

"And if they're coming back, no one is prepared…"

"They lost before. I'm sure they'll lose again."

"By the way, do you know where Bran slipped off to?"

Pyra shook her head. "No, I saw him by the stables crying, but he ran off before I could talk to him." She shut her book and placed it on the table between their seats. "What do you say we go for a walk around the castle?"

Rex nodded. "Sounds good. I can only read for so long."

Pyra stood up along with Rex and they strode outside, walking around the courtyard. They spotted Nia talking to Arya about something. Nia gave them a small wave before continuing her conversation.

The Aegis and her Driver eventually made their way over to an older part of the castle. It was a squat, round building that seemed to be built with defensibility in mind. They walked along the walls. Pyra abruptly stopped and looked up. Rex followed her gaze and saw Bran, hanging off a window sill. He seemed to be listening to somebody.

Rex turned to Pyra and opened his mouth. She put a finger to her lips and he nodded in understanding. Wouldn't want to startle Bran into falling.

"Can you hear him?" Rex whispered.

Pyra shook her head. "No. I wonder who he's talking to."

"How did he get there, anyway?"

"I heard he likes to climb. When Lady Stark found out Nia was a healer, she asked Nia to explain to Bran what would happen if he fell."

"Did she?"

"I think so, but Bran didn't take her seriously. 'I never fall,' he said."

An arm reached out of the window and pulled Bran up, so he was standing on the sill. Rex sighed quietly in relief. Then, the same arm shot out, pushing Bran off the ledge. A scream of terror echoed briefly through the courtyard, followed by a loud thud as Bran hit the ground. Rex looked at the seven year old, his body twisted and crushed by the fall in horror. He sat in stunned silence for a moment. A wolf was howling from somewhere else in the castle.

"Pyra, go get Nia!" Rex said.

She nodded and ran off toward where they had seen the Flesh Eater earlier.

While Pyra was gone, an older man, what they called a maester here, ran up with several guards and Lady Stark. The maester and the lady paled when they saw Bran. Lady Stark knelt in the snow beside him. Her body was shaken by a few small sobs before she burst into tears, weeping loudly.

The maester crouched beside her and tried to soothe her while doing a quick examination of Bran.

"He is alive," the man announced. "But injured. We must move quickly. He will need treatment."

"Wait!" Rex said. "Nia is on her way. We can't risk moving him before she gets here."

The maester hummed in thought. "I know she has a form of healing sorcery, but this level of damage…"

"She's healed worse."

"Rex!" Nia shouted from behind.

Rex turned to see her, Pyra, and Arya running toward them. Nia scowled at Bran's broken form.

"Bran…" Arya muttered.

"Everybody move away," Nia said. "I can heal him."

Rex stepped back from Bran, as did the guards. The maester tried to gently lead Lady Stark away, but she stayed rooted to the spot.

"I need to watch him!" she said frantically.

"That's fine," Nia said. "I just needed a little space."

The maester nodded and moved back. Nia knelt beside Bran, on the opposite side from Lady Stark and carefully moved him so he was lying flat on his back, then held out her hands. The gentle glow of Nia's healing suffused the boy. His eyes slowly opened and he looked from Nia to Lady Stark.

"What happened?" he asked.

"You fell!" Lady Stark said. "I always warned you…"

She trailed off as she started sobbing again.

"Don't worry," Nia said softly. "You're going to be all right." The glow slowly faded. "Can you stand?"

Bran hesitated for a moment before pushing himself up. Looking down at his body in amazement, he moved around and jumped up and down a few times.

"See, no worries, but don't go climbing anymore," Nia said. "Doctor's orders, okay?" She gave Bran a playful smile.

Bran nodded, though Rex doubted he had really learned anything.

"Do you remember what happened?" the older man asked.

"No. I was climbing and then all of a sudden I was here."

Rex and Pyra exchanged a look.

"We'll tell them later," Pyra whispered.

Rex nodded.

_Meanwhile…_

**Daenerys**

The man who would have been her husband shouted rabidly in Dothraki as Jin finished beheading the last of his riders. Jin fixed the barbarian with his cold eyes. Dany could see the flash of fear that ran through him, in his eyes and posture, but he recovered and drew his sword.

"I don't know what you're saying," Jin said. "Give up and I'll let you leave."

"No!" Drogo shouted, charging forward.

Jin suddenly stood right in front of the khal with his sword embedded in the warrior's throat. Dany watched in awe. It was always surreal watching Jin fight. He twisted his sword, then withdrew it. The savage fell to the ground, dead.

Jin bent over and stabbed his sword into the ground, using it to steady himself. Dany ran up to him, but he held up his free hand to stop her. After a minute, he stood up straight.

"I'm fine," he said. "This will make a good shelter."


End file.
